


The Second Wolf

by Orchidaexa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (borderline honestly), Alpha Peter Hale, Bestiality, Biting, Blood, Breeding, Broken Bones, Chasing, Cock & Ball Torture, Crying, Dark Peter Hale, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Eventual Happy Ending, Huge wolf dick, Humiliation, Knotting, M/M, Non-Consensual Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Peter Hale is Unhinged, Rape, Rimming, Shame, Spit As Lube, Stiles Is Into It Oh No, Teratophilia, That's monsterfucking to you and me, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Watersports, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/pseuds/Orchidaexa
Summary: Stiles is chased through the woods by two wolves. Their interest is not in eating him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Peter Hale, Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 17
Kudos: 185





	The Second Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TellMeNoAgain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/gifts), [LivviBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivviBee/gifts).



> I totally wanted to have this posted for Howloween, and then that Did Not Happen, so here we are, two weeks into November. And it's incomplete!! This was supposed to be a one shot!!! There is no schedule for updates because life and low spoons days and a whimsical muse all affect me.
> 
> This is not a Peter friendly fic.  
> Honestly, I genuinely love Peter Hale. He's such a wonderful sympathetic villain, his reasoning is often convoluted but logical, and I absolutely rate him as 10/10 Daddy material.
> 
> This is not the fic to read if that's what you're into. This is dark, this is fucked up, and whilst it's not finished yet, Peter is going to spend this fic being the pre-death-and-resurrection Peter. He is Not Nice.
> 
> Extra special thanks to Livvibee and TellMeNoAgain, but also to everyone who cheerread this in Discord, particularly TedraKitty and Mindwiped! (I'm sorry to everyone else for inflicting those snips on you, I know they were heavy and had a lot of tags.)

The pounding of his feet in the ground broke the chilled night air. Fog lingered, patchy in the trees, lowering visibility. It was a serious hindrance to the night vision of a poor human.

Stiles’ breath hitched, wildly scanning for the perfect escape route. A stream, a pond, a muddy patch, or even an animal's shit, anything to cover the scent of his distress and the desire for escape. 

But it wouldn't cover the sound of his pounding heart, or heavy breaths, so Stiles stood, closed his eyes, and  _ listened _ , just for a moment. There was rustling, the snapping of a twig somewhere in the distance, the very distant roar of an engine seeming so far away. There was no rushing water to hide his sounds, and nothing that indicated how close his pursuers were. Maybe the twig, if Stiles was being ultra paranoid, but he hadn’t managed to work out which direction that was coming from.

Making a split second decision before his pursuers got any closer, Stiles turned and ran towards where he thought the road might be. Only moments later, a howl echoed from that very direction, and Stiles realised:  _ he was being herded _ . Towards what, exactly, he didn’t know. But that didn’t really matter. He changed his trajectory, hoping that by veering a little he’d still get closer to civilisation and not be bothered by the wolf.

Of course, this was when things proceeded to not go to plan.

In Stiles’ path, looming out of the darkness--bright blue eyes glinting--was a fucking monstrous black wolf. It was certainly  _ not _ the one that had howled moments ago, and saliva dripped from it’s jaws as it bared its teeth.

Stiles barely had a moment to turn on his heel and run again.

Herding behaviours, seriously.

This was several levels of concerning. He was getting pushed away from anyone else, he was being herded by a large, slavering wolf, and there was  _ another wolf out there _ .

Stiles was so, so,  _ so  _ fucked.

If it weren’t for the racing of his heart, the adrenaline that pumped and pounded through his veins, he might have stopped, might have tried to make it easier for himself, calm his heart and his panic. 

Instead, Stiles was running, tripping over his own feet, over roots that lay in his path. 

Another howl sounded, close behind him, and he knew that it wouldn’t be long till the wolves tore him apart, he could see them flanking him in the trees, could hear their heavy paw pads hitting the ground, could practically feel them breathing heavily across his neck. But they weren’t pouncing, not just yet. They were snarling any time he tried to veer off course, one black, one silver, and his blood rushed in his ears. 

He was so  _ dead _ , and he’d even said to his Dad that there were no wolves in California, and now he was going to be the victim of an animal attack and he didn’t even have a gun on him  _ like his Dad had asked him to carry _ . And he’d ignored his Dad, ignored all advice to avoid the preserve. He’d thought tonight would be fine, the night had started so well, with a full moon to light his path.

It was  _ so not fine _ . 

There was grass beginning to crop up underfoot, and Stiles stumbled on a dip in the dirt. The wolves kept pace, tightening their paths to practically be running side by side just behind him, snapping at him to hurry with their  _ incredibly sharp _ teeth.

As the grass turned into a carpet, the trees breaking, the black wolf pounced.

Stiles hit the ground with a winded “ _ oof” _ , and froze in fear as the wolf’s teeth grasped the back of his neck, scruffing him, threatening to snap his neck. The adrenaline in his system had gone past flight, he knew it wasn’t wise to fight two apex predators, and his blood pressure had to be way too high to pass out. He wondered hysterically whether he’d piss himself in fear. 

The silver wolf began to snuffle around him, and Stiles tried to keep quiet and still, to control his rabbit-quick heart and his panicked breathing. It wasn’t going well. Then, in a move that had to be a total fluke, the silver wolf ripped straight through the seat of his pants, grabbing the leg of his jeans, tugging and pulling them until the ruined fabric lay on the ground. The black wolf whined, saliva dripping across Stiles’ neck.

Stiles’ fingers dug into the ground underneath him, he tried frantically to remember the soft points of a wolf, but had little success when the silver wolf was now  _ dragging off his boxers _ . It was enough to have him kick out, even as pinned as he was. 

“Hey! No! I need those!” Stiles bit out, before the black wolf on top of him  _ growled _ and dug the points of their teeth into the skin of Stiles’ neck. He shivered in fear, freezing up again. “Okay, okay, message received,” he whimpered into the ground. Clearly the tone was acceptable, because the wolf stopped growling, even going as far as to remove their teeth, licking a strip up Stiles’ cervical spine.

It was a moment of comfort, so different from what Stiles had been expecting that he tensed in shock, before consciously unclenching every muscle, cautiously relaxing.

That was when he felt it. A slick, wet tongue, that laved against his asshole. It was very clearly the tongue of the silver wolf, and Stiles’ eyes opened wide. He panicked, struggling, because what the fuck was his life  _ he was getting rimmed by a wolf _ what the fuck what the  _ fuck _ . The black wolf snarled. Stiles tried to wiggle away, fingers clawing into the dirt, knees slipping in the grass, and the wolf dropped so their chest was pinning Stiles, in all his skinny glory, to the ground. The teeth returned, more than just the nape of Stiles’ neck in its mouth, fangs digging in just below the hinge of his jaw. Tears were beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes, and the very interested wolf was just--it was just  _ carrying on _ . Nothing Stiles did was affecting these wolves, nothing he did put them off even one iota, and he felt powerless underneath the huge furry creature.

The tongue wriggled inside, and Stiles choked on the air he was taking in, sobs beginning to fall from his mouth. “Please,” he begged, pleading with the two creatures who almost certainly couldn’t understand him. “Please, just let me  _ go _ ,” he whined, even as his dick twitched. “I can’t,” he sobbed as the tears began to fall in earnest.

He was ignored, of course. It wasn’t like they could understand. If anything, the pathetic noises seemed to be taken as submission, because the wolf with its tongue in his ass started working harder, as if it was trying to get him slick and open. The thought only made Stiles cry harder, because he was going to lose his virginity to a pair of wolves and  _ who would fucking believe him _ ?

The strangest thing was, as Stiles had burst into tears, the wolf on top of him had started up crooning noises, soothing even while its huge fangs dug into his neck, teasing at blood vessels that twitched with the pace of his heart. There was almost certainly red dripping to the grassy ground, pooling at the base of the shoots, and as the tongue worked deeper and  _ deeper _ , Stiles went limp. It wasn’t the freeze of before, where each and every muscle had been taut, panicky, ready to run. This was the soul deep submission of someone who has given up on getting out of a situation. The wolves were so much  _ bigger _ than him, so much stronger, faster, so much  _ more _ . Giving up was the only way he was going to make it out of the situation relatively unharmed, especially if this was going where Stiles was  _ sure  _ it was going.

Uncaring of the submission Stiles was showing, the wolf continued to tongue fuck Stiles, and despite himself, he felt his cock harden, pulse with the sensation of the slick muscle pressing, pushing, working its way deeper and longer, until the wolf seemed satisfied. There was a quiet moment as it withdrew, then both wolves snarled. The black wolf even relinquished its grip to turn its head and growl, clearly showing bloodied teeth. Then, a shuffle, and the great beast had its chest pressed against Stiles’ shoulders, the coarse strands rubbing against his shirt, his head now tucked under the throat and chin of the thing. The wolf behind Stiles was nosing, roughly shoving his hips into the air, getting him into position. Still limp, Stiles let it happen, neither helping nor hindering the effort.

Another pause, another shuffle, and the silver wolf was scratching its paws at his hips, and Stiles felt, for the first time, that this wolf was  _ definitely _ male. Oh God. Oh fuck. How was that even going to  _ fit _ ? His body began to tense again as panic coursed through him, and the big black wolf dropped his body, pressing a line of heat against Stiles’ back, rumbling and crooning its comfort.

Before his heart rate could get too high, the silver wolf rutted against Stiles once and then  _ shoved _ in.

It was too much, too huge, and Stiles was split in half on the monster’s giant cock, his back arching as he tensed even though he  _ knew _ it was the wrong thing to do. He cried out his pain, releasing a wet scream into the night sky. The black wolf became more desperate, starting to lick and groom Stiles in comfort, and it was all Stiles could do to cling to the strong and unyielding legs of his captor.

It was relentless, but not the rabbit-quick rough rutting that Stiles had expected, just an unyielding push and pull that burnt through his veins, forcing him to just lie there and  _ take _ it, forcing him to just  _ feel _ as the silver wolf pushed deeper and deeper each time, until Stiles untensed, became a ragdoll, a toy for the wolf in his guts. The black wolf settled as soon as he went limp, the grooming dropping to nuzzling, and Stiles very quickly discovered that  _ this  _ one was male too, for sure, from the way it pressed its whole body against him and another cock lay heavy against his spine. Slick spurts of precum soaked through his shirt, as the rutting slowly pushed it up his body.

Despite himself, despite how painful that penetration had been, the constant stretch-rub of the wolf’s length inside him was enough to have Stiles slowly work his way back to hardness, the thickness spreading him deep inside, pressing against sensitive buttons he’d only even glanced over with his fingertips. He hated it, hated the welling shame of his arousal, hated that his dick was so easily swayed by physical stimulation. Tears brimmed, and he pressed his face into the musty damp of the earth beneath him, just enough to hide his face.

"Please," he whispered to the blades of grass, supplication to some unknown force that might make this be over soon, might make this happen quicker, might make it stop before Stiles broke. "Please."

His dick was starting to leak, and with every thrust the wolf took, the slipslide seemed to become easier. His fingers tightened around the black wolf's legs, squeezing to ground himself, to lose himself in the sensation of fur slipping beneath his fingertips. The weight of the black wolf made it a little hard to draw breaths sometimes, when his diaphragm spasmed, the shatteringly huge cock carving out space inside him. 

There was a familiar burn starting at the base of Stiles' spine, and he shook his head, grinding his face into the dirt in denial. "No," he whimpered, "nonono, please no." 

This was already awful, and shame was starting to flood all his pores, which somehow only made that burn brighter, stronger. His cock was leaking, twitching, throbbing. His balls were drawing up, and even as he tried so hard to disappear into a headspace where it couldn't affect him, it rolled further into him. Tears streaked down his face, and Stiles let out a loud sob. "Please don't," he begged his own body, "fuck, please, st-stop," he panted.

The wolf was relentless, only shoving into him harder, faster, and Stiles choked on an intake of breath. Pleasure crashed across his nerves, taking him out of his head for only a moment as his release splattered on the ground; the wolf slowing its thrusts, growling in pleasure as he spasmed around it. There was stillness as Stiles twitched through an aftershock, and the wolf pulled itself free. 

Feeling the wetness drip out of him as the first wolf withdrew, Stiles let out a sigh of relief. There were a few moments of growling and snarling passing between the two beasts, and though Stiles shuddered in fear, he felt too wrung out to do anything more than just lay still. More worrying was the sudden fleshy popping and ripping sounds that came from behind him, and he tried to twist his face to see what was going on.

There were a couple of breaths of quiet, the grass brushing his face, the big black wolf licking over Stiles’ hair, before a voice spoke, and Stiles started, twitching from where he was being crushed into the ground. “Yes, yes, nephew. I get it, you won’t dismount your bitch.” Pale feet came into Stiles’ sightline, and he lifted his chin to see more of the stranger in front of him. The stranger crouched, naked, before capturing Stiles’ face with his fingertips. His other hand grabbed and pushed the teenager’s wrist into the dirt, a smug look on his face. Under any other circumstance, this man would be the kind of guy Stiles would guiltily jerk off to, but as his cool blue eyes traced the tear tracks that spilled from guileless brown, it only made the fear worse. Besides, even as fucked out as he was, there were some obvious cogs turning in Stiles’ brain.

“Werewolves?” he whispered, and the stranger’s smile turned sharp, calculating.

“I’d say you were a smart one, darling, but I’d be more surprised if you didn’t put it together at this point.” In a very wolfish manner, the man leaned forwards, breathing in,  _ smelling _ Stiles’ neck and face, rasping his stubble there. The black wolf on top growled sharply, and shuffled so that the heavy cock he’d been feeling occasionally drag across his lower back was now rubbing and pushing at Stiles’ gaping, well fucked hole. Releasing Stile’s chin, the man caught his other wrist and held them together. 

“You see, pet, we  _ caught _ you. You’re ours now.” His tone was casual, light, and the black wolf’s cock drove into Stiles as he opened his mouth to argue, leaving him wailing, gasping for breath as he just  _ forced _ his way in, driving until he was fully seated. The man smirked as tears were drawn from Stiles again, heaving sobs of breath. “And you see, my nephew  _ is  _ rather taken with you.”

The black wolf crooned, almost pleased with the assessment the guy had made, rubbing his snout over the back of Stiles’ neck, down the side of it, covering where the rasp of stubble has pinked his neck slightly. “Oh, no need to be so  _ possessive _ , Derek. You’ll learn to share soon enough.” The wolf’s--no,  _ Derek’s _ \--thrusts were more savage than the other man’s, brutally pushing him along the grass, Stiles’ cock rubbing against the dirt.

Working through his feverish gasping, his sobs as his diaphragm caught with each hard push, Stiles managed to narrow his eyes at the crouched guy. “Then--ah, fuck!--what’s, what’s,  _ fuck _ , your name?”

With a delighted grin, the guy let claws drag over Stiles’ pulse points. “Peter.” He paused, that grin turning wicked, “but you can call me  _ Daddy _ , pet.”

Blood seemed to turn to ice in Stiles’ veins, contrasting with the way the rough thrusts were sending sparks soaring through him, a bite of fire and ice that left him horrified. Everything was too sensitive, and Stiles instinctively thrashed, trying to get away, pull his wrists from the man in front of him, get off the cock that was splitting him in two, but both wolf and man growled, snarled their disapproval, and the wolf--Derek--fit his teeth back over Stiles’ neck, letting a growl rumble through him, letting Stiles feel just how close to danger he was. One more tug on the wrists--he hadn’t gotten very far, Peter’s grip was like a vice--and Stiles sunk back into that limp state, sobbing  _ properly _ now.

“Oh, darling, you’ll find out very quickly it’s so much better not to fight us,” Peter singsonged, tightening his grip to the point of pain, bones grinding together as Stiles cried. “Werewolves are so much stronger than a sweet little human like you, so much faster, more deadly…”

The dick inside Stiles just seemed to be getting bigger, and he whimpered out a moan, his own length leaking again, the hot fire and frozen ice spiraling into his guts, where they burnt and froze and sent signals from his churning stomach to his slowly hardening cock. It was pressing inside him, filling him more, thickening and stretching him, and even though Derek’s teeth held him in place, drool rolling down the sides of Stiles’ neck, Stiles was fairly sure that he wouldn’t be able to pull off the cock inside him anymore. 

“W-what is that?” He stuttered, on the off chance that this was something actually happening inside him, hands clenching as pain and pleasure danced along his nerves. His body was flushing, nipples rubbing on the ground where his shirt was rucked up. Blinking blue eyes slowly, the man in front of him tilted his head, and stared down the wolf.

Stiles had no idea what was going on overhead, but he got the feel that the wolf was staring back at the man. “Eager, are you, nephew?”

Derek released Stiles’ neck, giving an apologetic lick, laying his muzzle on the back of Stiles’ head.

“What?” Stiles whimpered, squirming just enough to feel that it was definitely  _ not _ his imagination, there seemed to be something swelling inside him. It tugged at his rim, making Stiles whine, and the wolf was slowing to a dirty, rough grind. It was too wide, too much when the only lube he’d seemed to have was the cum left inside him before and--

Stiles stopped, a feeling of horror settling across him. He’d come across this before, on his various searches around the internet.  _ Knotting _ . And if this wolf--Derek--was knotting him, did that mean that Peter hadn’t actually orgasmed before? He’d felt so sure that all that wetness dripping out of him had been cum. In a moment of spiralling panic, he looked up to try and meet those icy blue eyes, to try and confirm. 

The owner smirked down at him. He knew what Stiles was thinking, oh shit, he had to know that.

Peter leaned down. “Mine is  _ much bigger _ , little pet.”

Derek growled, paws grinding Stiles into the dirt, leaning down and  _ biting _ his shoulder.

Stiles couldn’t help it.

The pain raced through his system, tangling with pleasure, with fear, with horror, and despite only being half hard, he came.

Static snow drifted through his brain, and he was gasping and sobbing, eyes blurring with something that was maybe tears and maybe pleasure, twitching and spasming, feeling like he had just been irrevocably  _ claimed _ . He could practically feel the hot jets of cum inside him, the heat bathing his insides, the knot holding him in place, teeth anchoring him to the wolf, fur rubbing and brushing along his back, down his thighs. 

For a moment, before the gut wrenching panic of being bitten by a werewolf set in, before the horror and disgust, Stiles had a moment of floating, of being completely and totally at peace. He belonged to this wolf now, Stiles belonged to him, and he would take care of him. 

Peter’s eyes flashed red and Stiles was abruptly thrown back to reality.

“Fuck! Shit! Am I a werewolf now is this how it works why would you do this  _ what would possess you to do this to me-- _ ” 

Peter dropped Stiles’ wrists, slapped a hand over his mouth and reached over to scruff the wolf.

"You should know better, Derek," he said, and the wolf on top of Stiles flattened himself down, spreading his bulk to cover Stiles. His teeth left Stiles' shoulder, and the wolf was rumbling a warning that turned into a whine. It was contrite, but apparently not enough for the wolf to let Peter get to Stiles. 

Stiles tangled his fingers in the thick ruff of fur around Derek's neck. 

"I am sharing my pet with  _ you _ , not the other way around," the man was hissing, shaking the big black wolf around a bit. Anxiety lanced through Stiles, and he deliberately started to pull his limbs back, hiding under thick fur. Derek rested his head on top of Stiles', and Stiles could  _ feel _ the puppy dog eyes. 

Peter made a disgusted noise, pulling back to eye up the position Derek was taking. "Change back, Derek." 

The wolf tensed, and deliberately thrust his hips. The knot inside Stiles shifted, and he moaned, eyes fluttering, melting into the grass. A feral snarl happened overhead, drool dripping onto Stiles' head, but he couldn't bring himself to look up. It was bad enough with those two fighting over the top of him, he didn't need to be in the middle of it. Eventually, the snarling stopped, and Derek let out a pained whimper, everything about him starting to ripple and crack, even his cock rippling with the transformation. It didn't change though, stayed locked inside him. Harsh muscle planes were now pressed against Stiles' back, a change from the coarse fluff that almost threw him. The guy was broader on top than Stiles, and he was still growling at Peter. 

"I'm fucking sorry, okay?" he snapped by Stiles' ear, tone defensive and grouchy, even as he curled atop Stiles with an aggressive cuddle. 

Peter tutted, and clearly grabbed Derek to drag him upright. The rush of cool air against Stiles' back left him cold, shivering. "Clearly, nephew, you need to be taught a lesson." 

There was quiet, Peter clearly considering. "Pull out, Derek." His voice was icy, and Stiles could feel the thick throbbing begin to lessen. 

"But- My knot- I could hurt him!" This was finished with a very high pitched whine, and Stiles felt it as Peter's hand dropped to where Derek's balls rested on his, felt as the hand twitched, and the knot rapidly began to deflate as Derek whimpered. "Please Peter, Uncle, please, st-stop, I can't-" 

Stiles whined, the discomfort of emptiness taking over as he flopped sideways, trying to protect himself just a little, trying to get an eye on the monsters that had chased him down and raped him. The most frustrating thing was that they were both  _ beautiful.  _ Under any normal circumstances, he'd have been panting around Derek in cafés and bookshops, his grey-green eyes captivating, his stubble and hair immaculate, his body off the charts in a way that Stiles suspected was solely down to being a werewolf.

As it was, he was arched, displaying that captivating chest with his little pink nipples perfectly, whimpering and trying to move away from Peter's grasping hand, his balls looking reddened, sore, blood trickling down them as claws dug in. Stiles shuddered in sympathy, and tried to shift himself away from Peter so he could regain some strength. 

No such luck. Peter--older than Derek, greying, well groomed--caught Stiles' movements and released his grip on Derek, pushing the man forwards to land on top of Stiles with a rush of breath. The werewolf whimpered, rubbed his face into Stiles' shoulder, and went limp. 

"You know I have to show you your place now, pup. You know that's how it works." Stiles squinted up at the older man, and distinctly got the impression that if he had pants on right now, he would be unzipping the flies. Instead, he took hold of his cock, and, with a look of concentration… Started peeing up Derek's back. 

The younger wolf whimpered again, and Stiles pressed at his shoulders, trying to push him away. He'd already had enough humiliation for the night  _ thank you very much _ , he wasn't about to get peed on as well. 

Which was a great monologue in his head, but left him unprepared for the reality of Peter conspicuously aiming a stream of urine up Stiles' neck, splashing the hot liquid across his cheeks, letting it drip into his hair. It also left him unprepared for the way the shame hit him, curling in his belly, hot and heated and his cock twitched pathetically, the ghost of action after having two orgasms wrung from him.

"Fuck," whispered Stiles, thunking his head backwards to the ground. He wet his lips, and tasted the piss that clung there, acrid on his tongue. 

Finally the stream eased off, and both Derek and Stiles were coated. The werewolf seemed to be starting to tongue bathe him, licking away the taste, the scent, when Peter knelt down and grabbed him by the hair. "Now now, Derek, if you  _ really _ want him, you'll make his pathetic little cock come." 

Stiles froze, feeling dread settle into his stomach. He was as soft as it came: he was wrung out and sore and humiliated, and just wanted to go home and cry it out. "I can't," he whispered, more to himself than anybody. The older werewolf caught it, and he grinned, a savage predatorial thing that sent Stiles' skin crawling. He already knew he was the prey here, the rabbit caught in a trap. His heart thundered wildly as Peter manoeuvred Derek into position, shoving the younger man's head towards Stiles' crotch. Clawed fingers gripped at his hips, and Stiles whimpered, the fear crawling through him again. 

Wide grey eyes looked up at Stiles, and he really wished his dick wasn't so wrung out, that the adrenaline hadn't been pounding his system. This was the first time his dick was going in someone's mouth, and he was tired of terror, tired of the humiliation, and totally soft. He was scared of the fucked up psychopath that was pushing his own nephew around, scared of fangs and claws, scared that if he got up and ran he'd just be chased down again. 

There was a hacking spitting noise, and Stiles looked up to see Peter slicking his dick with that and nothing else. His own clawed hands were on Derek's hips, panic settling into Stiles' chest as he watched Peter move into position. Stiles tangled his hands into dark hair, still damp with piss, and petted it in an effort to distract. Clearly, Derek took it as him welcoming attention to his cock, because he began to lick and kiss and snuffle at the limp organ. It was painful, oversensitive, and Stiles barely kept from yanking at the strands. The young werewolf was pressing into the affection, and Stiles understood why when he hissed in pain, covering the noise with a loud suck to Stiles' hipbone.

"Oh sweet little beta bitch, you can't even get the human hard again, can you?" Peter's voice was spun like deadly sugar, poison tainting every word. Derek responded to it by renewing his efforts, sucking the head of Stiles' cock into his mouth. Stiles gave a desperate yelp, shoving hard at Derek's shoulders. The man was  _ immovable _ , like a fucking brick wall, and Stiles was a mere wisp of a breeze. 

Tears began to well up again, and Stiles' eyes felt gritty. He was so  _ done  _ with crying. He clenched his teeth, pushing again at Derek. "Please, stop. It's too much, please," he begged, and grey eyes caught his. They were filled with fearful concern, and Peter laughed again. 

"Does he not  _ want _ you, little bitch?" There were several incredibly hard thrusts that had Derek making tiny soft and high pitched noises around Stiles, around the soft length in his mouth, and his nose was pressed into Stiles' pubes. In any other situation, this would be out of this world hot. It still  _ was _ hot, but it was also painful, slick tongue feeling like sandpaper on his grated nerves, the threat of teeth like razors, stubble rasping and painful against his balls. And Peter… The psycho wasn't helping matters, eyes wild and feral, teeth too sharp, claws careless and biting. There were trickles of blood everywhere he'd touched Derek, and the werewolf just seemed to  _ take  _ it. 

Leaning down, the psychopath murmured into Derek's ear, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. "You're a born bitch, pup, but after that little stunt you're not good enough for my knot." Derek seemed to writhe at that, as if caught between emotions. Something dark, angry, flickered across the wolf's face, before it reverted to a much softer look of apologetic fear. "In fact, you're going to watch me breed  _ my _ pet, bitch, and if you whine about it, I'll be sure to neuter you." Peter looked smug, in contrast to the way panic slammed across Derek's face, the same way sympathetic panic battered its way through Stiles. The wolf gave a pained grunt, pulling off Stiles' stubbornly limp length to press his head against Stiles’ hip, breathing heavily. Peter's hand appeared to have disappeared to Derek's balls again, and from the way that the younger wolf was choking, was doing something truly awful to them or to his dick. “Bitches don’t need their dicks to please their alpha, do they, pup?”

Derek’s jaw hardened, his lip curling up in a snarl. But as he began to move his body, muscles tensing under the other man, Peter grabbed a big handful of hair, dragged him up and  _ bit _ , hard, at the nape of his neck. The werewolf gasped, loud and long, the fight immediately dropping out of his body.

With that handful of hair, Peter pulled back, fangs dripping blood, and tossed Derek to one side. He landed, slumped unceremoniously, making sad noises at having been rejected so thoroughly by his alpha. A bloody bite mark was ringed on the back of his neck, and Peter advanced on Stiles.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he said, grinning with all his fangs on display. “You’ll be a good pet and take my knot, no matter what.”

Once again, Stiles fervently wished that he’d max out on the terror he felt because of this bullshit, because there was no way to look at that smile, see what Peter’d just done to a strong and forceful werewolf, and feel anything other that sheer gaping horror that opened up the pit of his stomach.

“Maybe you’ll even  _ like _ it,” he said, dropping to crouch next to Stiles. “Maybe you won’t. It won’t matter either way, because now…” There was a  _ snick _ of claws, and one traced a three pronged spiral in the centre of his chest. “Now, you belong to  _ me _ .”

If Stiles hadn’t been frozen in terror, the actual appropriate response right now, he probably would have screamed and taken off running. But running would lead them in another chase, his legs barely worked, he wasn’t wearing pants, and he had absolutely no protection from something faster, stronger, better than he was. And more psychotic. Clearly, the major point here was that Peter was crazy, actually cuckoo.

“Why don’t you open your legs for Daddy?” he purred, almost feline in his grace. “It’ll make it easier for you if you comply. No fighting me.” He tapped a human thumb against Stiles’ lips, and Stiles turned his head. Even if giving in was the better idea, there was something that rankled about this man being so unhinged, so out of control, but controlling  _ so much _ . 

There was a breath, two, while Stiles turned away. The thumb withdrew. Clawed fingers gripped his chin, and dragged him to look Peter directly in the eye. “Oh look, now you’re upsetting Daddy, boy.” 

Boy was better than  _ bitch _ , and Stiles’ eyes flickered to where Derek was silently hunched, looking miserable.

“Oh, no no, don’t look at the bitch, look at Daddy,” Peter snarled, yanking Stiles’ face closer to his, so that Stiles could feel his breath on his lips. It smelt of copper, fresh blood, and Peter’s chin was marred with red. It was disgusting, but the grip was like iron and Stiles could feel the claws slicing into his skin if he tried to struggle. “You’re going to be a good boy for Daddy, aren’t you?” Stiles didn’t reply, narrowing his eyes. “ _ Aren’t you _ ?” Peter said again, his voice colder, iced over, claws biting into his chest.

Still, Stiles was not planning on giving in easily, but had to make some concession. “... Yes.” He gritted out, twitching.

Peter’s grin was so nasty, it felt like it could slice through his skin like a scalpel. “Yes  _ what _ , little pet?”

The claws on his chest bit  _ harder _ , and Stiles gave a yelp of pain, trying to squirm away, only falling still when the claws on his face pressed so hard that Stiles thought the sharp tips might shred his cheeks. “Yes. Daddy.”

His tone was unenthusiastic, but Peter was clearly delighted. His claws released, and he soothed his now human fingers over the blood that spilled from Stiles’ split skin. “Just be a respectful pet, and I’ll take  _ such _ good care of you,” he purred, lifting blood-slick fingers and popping one into his mouth. “You taste so  _ sweet _ , no wonder my bitch couldn’t help himself.”

Fear was twisted up Stiles' spine, and he laid still. He wasn't going to react, he wasn't. He laid still, stiff, and Peter explored his torso with fingers that sometimes became sharp claws, shoving Stiles’ legs wide and settling between them. He tried to be a dead weight, but his limbs twitched, and Peter growled, low in his throat. It was a warning, more deadly than anything the other werewolf had issued. Stiles shuddered, instinctively whimpered. He kicked himself mentally, for giving the man anything, any sign of distress.

It made the alpha leer, made him flash fangs, eyes bright, red. “Do I  _ scare _ you, pet?” Stiles very carefully focused on the middle of Peter’s forehead, and bit his lip to keep from responding. He expected anger, a flash of psychotic frustration. Instead, Peter  _ chuckled _ , and Stiles felt his breath hitch, cold flashing down his spine. That was worse, so much worse, than he’d expected.

Then, the wolf lined up, Stiles could feel his cock pressing against Stiles’ fucked open hole. “Do you not want this? Hmm? No?” Peter cooed, and Stiles shook his head. His focus was still on that patch of forehead, too scared to look down. “Your feelings about this don’t  _ matter _ , pet. We both know you’ll like it soon enough.”

With that, Peter thrust in, hard, and Stiles arched and  _ screamed _ . He’d tensed, it hurt, he hated it, everything was  _ awful _ , and even though the stretch wasn’t as extreme as the initial one, it was still just… It was bad. He was terrified, he could see how strong Peter was, he knew the best way to deal with this was to go limp, but he was too scared to give in, submit. 

And because he really  _ really _ enjoyed being a psychopath, Peter leaned in and licked a long stripe up Stiles’ neck. “You sweet, scared little bunny, don’t you know your fear makes you taste even better to the big bad wolves who bite you?” His teeth snapped, just shy of Stiles’ jawline, forcing Stiles to flinch. An uneven, gleeful laugh rumbled out of Peter’s chest, and Stiles gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as if it was  _ his fault _ that the fear was practically numbing him, not when the psychopath insisted on being such an  _ asshole _ , so fucking unhinged. It lit a fire in his chest that was extinguished when Peter grinned, wide. “Are you going to fight me, bunny? Going to fight the big bad wolf?”

Stiles closed his eyes, screwed them shut tight. If he didn’t look at Peter’s blood soaked facial hair, if he pretended it was someone he was into, maybe he could get through this. Maybe he could go back to imagining it as the wolf form, pretend he could feel fur brushing his thighs. And really, how fucked up was  _ that _ , that he’d rather be mounted by a wolf that didn’t care about his consent, as opposed to this-this man. This man that was actively and delightedly pushing past every boundary Stiles had ever owned. Maybe it wasn’t all that fucked up. What was most definitely, most certainly fucked up, was that his dick was  _ leaking _ .  _ Again _ . He could feel the tacky drops on his skin, as the alpha thrust in at just the right angle to cause the awful sensation. His dick twitched.

“Are you watching, nephew?” Peter taunted, and Stiles risked opening his eyes, just a little. He saw the other wolf, a little more recovered, watching on with wide and sad eyes. “See how he’s leaking for me? You smell it, don’t you, bitch? He  _ wants _ me to breed him.” Stiles tried to communicate with a glance that he  _ hated _ this, hated that he was exposed and belly up and so vulnerable. Those wide green eyes met his and darted away almost immediately.

The submissiveness of the other werewolf was galling, grating on Stiles. And then came a cascade of  _ anger _ . That man cowering over there was supposed to be so much  _ stronger _ than Stiles. He was supposed to be faster, with sharp claws and fangs, and yet here was the  _ alpha _ on top of Stiles, making him hurt and ache in sharp quantities with every thrust, and Stiles was so fucking  _ done _ . Anger flashed through him hotly, and he swung his hand up, hoping to- to- to do  _ what _ ? Maybe gouge out Peter’s eyes. It didn’t fucking matter, it couldn’t matter. Not when Peter caught his hand, smiling nastily.

“Oh little one, all that  _ anger _ inside of you.” He clicked his tongue, pausing in his thrusts. “It won’t do you any good at all.” Stiles’ eyes widened and Peter- well.

Peter twisted his arm sharply, Stiles’ bones cracking. It took a blank moment before the discomfort settled in and Stiles whimpered under Peter’s hands. His forearm was twisted, unaligned, held firmly in Peter’s grasp. It wasn’t right, his arm at the wrong angle, and a wave of throbbing hurt radiated from the arm. His eyes welled up, and the anger dissipated while he tried to breathe through the injury.

And then Peter dropped his arm. 

Stiles  _ howled _ with pain, as it exploded along his forearm, radiating up in sharp shooting patterns, past his elbow. He grabbed at it, clutching it, cradling it to his chest. The arm felt weighty, aching, and Stiles could feel himself receding into his mind. He couldn’t deal with this, not anymore. Time was beginning to stretch, and his brain wouldn’t let him move his fingers anymore. His eyes were definitely glazing over, his body still tensed and trembling. 

His arm was a dull ache that worsened whenever the thrusts caused his arm to jiggle against his chest. And his ass, that was burning, hurting, his dick felt too raw, overstimulated, and it was dripping anyway, chubbing up slowly. God, he was so fucking messed up. Distantly, Stiles was aware that he wasn’t looking at Peter anymore, not really, instead staring at the leaves in the trees above his head. They rustled in the wind, and Stiles watched them glide over one another.

Clearly, the quiet that blanketed Stiles now was going to be taken as submission. The alpha seemed to think so, crooning at Stiles. “See how much better it is when you submit, pet? Let Daddy take care of you.” Everything sounded like it was coming through a filter, from so far away, and Stiles barely flinched when Peter laid his hand back on Stiles. Black veins began to appear in the man’s arm, and Stiles watched with dispassionate eyes, the throb of his broken arm slowly tapering away. 

“And because you’ve been so good, I’m going to give you my knot, give you my pups,” Peter said. Stiles made a sound that he thought might have been disgust several panic attacks ago. The man smirked, curling his lip just enough to flash a fang at Stiles. Claws trailed down Stiles’ cheek, and he barely twitched. 

Peter pouted.

He dug his claws in, just a little, at Stiles’ jawline. “Say  _ thank you, Daddy _ , slut.” The growl rumbled up through his chest, and Stiles felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton wool. His tongue was too big for it, useless and dry, and he barely had the cognizance to work out what Peter had said.

“Th’nk you Daddy,” slurred Stiles. Peter, ever observant, pursed his lips and tapped his claws where they had pierced through skin. His eyes were narrowing as he stared at Stiles, clearly trying to think about what he was seeing.

“I’m still going to knot you, whether you’re here or not.” When Stiles jerked a little, Peter huffed out a breath. “Yes, pet, I know you’re not all there right now, but you aren’t  _ escaping _ this.” The ‘this’ was very quickly becoming apparent. The knot was ballooning much faster than Derek’s had, it was stretching him out wider, further. Stiles made soft noises of protest, shifting around as the knot was forced back and forth through his hole as it grew. It was almost enough to tear, to rip Stiles apart, with each rough pull and push inside him. Stretched out as time was, the knot seemed to both take forever to grow, and only a blink of the eye. It took hours for Peter to stop pushing and pulling and tearing Stiles apart before swapping to grinding, it took mere seconds. His back arched, and his protestations became whimpers, the knot filling and filling and  _ filling _ .

Peter was grinning, nasty fangs on display, that were slowly remoulding to be more human, his eyes still blazing bright blood red. “I’m going to bite you now, pet, bind you to me.” He snapped just in front of Stiles’ face, pink saliva dripping onto his forehead. “Such a  _ shame _ I have to use such  _ pathetic _ human dentition.” Despite how confident he was, Peter’s voice was wavering, the pleasure of using Stiles clearly getting to him.

His hips were twitching as he ground into Stiles now, eyes starting to get that hazy look of pleasure, lips twisted in a snarl. Everything Stiles was registering felt like the information was being filtered through a cloth. Even the overwhelming size of Peter’s knot felt like dull pressure, and whilst pleasure seemed to dart through his body, his cock remained stubbornly limp. Stiles could feel the cum dripping from it anyway, distantly, forced by the sheer overwhelming press inside him, the size and the force leaving no room to escape. Not that any of his body really responded right now, his vocal chords only barely engaging, his limbs so incredibly heavy that even a twitch felt like it took every ounce of energy.

With a final twitching grind, Peter dropped his head, digging his teeth--human teeth, blunt and flat and still tearing directly through skin that Derek initially opened.

It wasn’t the same. Stiles knew that immediately. Beneath the fog he could feel the thrumming fear, and his eyes slid to Derek, wide and blank. The man was wide eyed, guilty, a touch of tears shimmering in there, never falling. Stiles licked his lips, smacking them together, mouth and tongue and lips dry.

The instant safety, the connection that he had felt when Derek had dug his fangs in was missing, it was just hurt, and fear, and little sparks of anger that curled in his chest, unable to be snuffed out despite the broken arm--which was now cradled carefully against Stiles’ chest, sending signals of ache and discomfort and strange tugging sensation--and Stiles resurfaced.

It was like coming up from underwater, his body suddenly his own again. Things gave hot bursts, tingles like pins and needles as they came back online, back into Stiles’ command. He twitched and tensed and could feel the hot grin of triumph that Peter was pressing into his skin. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, contemplative, mind starting to ratchet the gears again. Anger wouldn’t get him out from under Peter, and nor would outright defiance.

It took a lot to swallow the slime he felt oozing up the back of his throat. Stiles kept his eyes fixed on Derek, trying to communicate--something. Anything. “Daddy, please, it hurts,” Stiles whined. Derek’s face fell, starting up his own sympathy whine, cutting it short when Stiles smirked, just enough to catch the werewolf’s eye. Nothing that would alert Peter.

Slowly, carefully, Peter unlatched from Stiles, and began pulling pain. Just enough, enough to make him woozy. “Oh, Stiles, such a good boy.”

Stiles froze, the instinctive flinch unable to be stopped in its tracks.

“How- How do you know my name?” There was a vulnerable stutter to his voice, and he shivered, a short whimper slipping past his lips as the shudder moved his arm, made pain lance up it. God, it almost wasn’t worth having come back from the dissociation, if this was the way he was going to feel, pained and used and sore all over from having his back pressed into the forest floor.

Peter made a dismissive hand gesture, before elaborating. “Who  _ doesn’t _ know the Sheriff's troublemaking offspring? He’ll think you just...  _ wandered off _ , little pet.”

Stiles bit back a snarl, tilting his head back into the grass, instead heaving a wet sounding sigh. Derek’s eyes were on him still, and his gaze flickered between Peter and Stiles. It was openly questioning, openly considering and his brows were raised. He could see  _ something _ was going on.

Stiles let fear creep into him, let sadness creep inside him. “B-but you’ll take me back, right?” he pleaded. “I’ll be able to see my Dad again, right?”

The feral smirk on Peter’s lips was answer enough.

***

Being cradled by Derek as he walked wasn’t the  _ worst _ thing. In fact, it was pretty good, lack of dignity aside. Not that Stiles really  _ had _ any dignity left, what with the whole lack of pants and a torn blood-and-saliva covered shirt. Oh. And the whole dripping cum thing, like a slug leaving a trail. Derek kept nuzzling Stiles’ temple, placing soft licks there, which was an incredibly weird experience when the guy was very man shaped. Very, very man shaped. Honestly. It was a little like being a princess carried by a greek god, complete with rapey intentions.

Well. Maybe not so rapey, based on how careful and sweet the man was being. Occasionally, black veins would run up Derek’s arm, and Stiles would start feeling a floaty lack of any and all pain. Werewolf abilities were pretty cool, mused Stiles, and he really wished that he’d been introduced to werewolves in a different way. Maybe in another world, Scott would get bitten or something. He’d make a puppy of a wolf. Yeah. Puppywolf. 

Another hit of the pain drain coincided with that thought, and it left Stiles giggling, just slightly.

Derek tensed, his steps faltering, and Peter appeared at Stiles’ side. “Something  _ funny _ , pet?”

Stiles shook his head desperately, trying to hide his face in Derek’s chest. It was  _ childish _ , but it was the only thing that Stiles could think to do. He really had no other options, especially with Peter stroking those creepily invasive fingers down his neck.

“Do stop taking his pain, Derek. It’ll help him understand his place better.” Derek made a soft noise, like he was about to argue. Before any words came out, there was a sharp gasp, and Stiles had to cling on to a shoulder with his good hand when the arms around him lost a little tension. He looked up, cringing at the tight hold that Peter appeared to have in Derek’s hair. “ _ Don’t _ argue with me, bitch.”

“Please, Daddy,” Stiles whined, and Derek echoed the sentiment with a much more wolfish vocalisation. There were so many ways to finish that sentence, but they all got stuck in Stiles’ throat. All he wanted was for Peter to release them both, but he would also settle for minimising harm. He knew how this would go. He’d play along, for now, until he saw an opening and took it. Stiles was a cop’s kid, after all, he’d known about this strategy for a long time. 

He could wait, Stiles told himself as Derek carried him down a tunnel to a room that smelled of damp and ash. He could work this, he told himself as Peter clicked the shackles into place. He’d be free sooner rather than later.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey if you wanna catch up with me on Discord, Writer Buddies is where I'm usually hanging out. If you're reading this, you can probably join us in the gutter.  
> https://discord.gg/4KWWccK  
> Come say hi!


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